


Peekaboo

by veilfire



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (not like you think), Character Study, Irresponsible Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4178406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veilfire/pseuds/veilfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull and Dorian fuck, and set the room on fire. It's not a sad incident by half.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peekaboo

**Author's Note:**

> There was a Twitter exchange that spurred this thing to life, but it happened weeks ago (hi! I am the slowest writer in the world!), so I remember no details except that [somniari](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somniari/pseuds/somniari) was involved. I've no idea if this is what we talked about, but hey, there's sex! And feelings! Thank you for the inspiration!
> 
> The wonderful peeps at [tosfla](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tofsla/pseuds/tofsla) and [amurderof](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amurderof/pseuds/amurderof) helped me make this fic better, and I will never repay them. You rock. Thank you _so much_ for everything!

It’s their second go, and as usual, it’s better than the first, Dorian more relaxed, Dorian’s body more relaxed, Bull rolling his hips lazily, lips close to Dorian’s ear, saying shit Dorian’s not listening to because it’s ridiculous and it makes him laugh. Makes his chest tight for reasons that are not related to chasing his orgasm. Dorian does his best to not think about them, possibly ever, certainly not while fooling around in bed. Not that it’s difficult, not thinking, with Bull above him, and inside him, and so close to him he doesn’t feel like another person at all.

The room, the bed, the air between them, they all smell of sex and sweat. Not like the myriad of places Dorian had fucked in in Tevinter though. Maybe because Bull’s a Qunari. Maybe because — doesn’t matter. Dorian doesn’t give a damn. He runs his hands along the length of Bull’s back, enjoys muscles shifting under his palms, enjoys skin, smooth and damp. He moves higher to give a quick squeeze to Bull’s neck that has them both groaning in pleasure, fingers spreading over the curve of Bull’s skull to reach the surface of a horn, rough and solid. Easy to grab and hold on. Dorian does and shuts his eyes, mouth opening on a pant.

The drag of Bull’s cock in him is delicious, slow but certain. Perfect, perfect, perf— Bull draws back and out of his body. Dorian’s eyes snap open.

“You with me, big guy?” Bull—big, silly, caring too much for his own good, darling man that he is—asks, forehead wrinkling. Dorian doesn’t appreciate being pulled out of the moment, but this, checking in on Dorian, this is important to Bull, so he nods, angles Bull’s face closer to his own to kiss him stupid. It’s only then, with Dorian’s mouth slotted to his, breaths mingling, that Bull thrusts back in. The glide is smooth to the very end, and Dorian can feel it in his _spine_. Can feel it more, somehow, when Bull’s balls rest, heavy, against his arse.

Dorian shudders. “Do that again.”

“Bossy,” Bull laughs. Withdraws. Shifts, leaning more on his right side, left hand seeking out Dorian’s. This time when he slides home, he squeezes Dorian’s fingers, and Dorian shouts, his nerves alight from his soles to the tips of his ears. It’s not enough. “Again,” he says like giving orders on the battlefield. Then: “Again, again, again.” Firmer. Stronger. Demanding. It’s never enough.

Something about their fucking eludes Dorian. Doesn’t align with his experience. It should be terrifying, to want so much, to be given so much. It should be paralyzing.

Bull obliges, fucking Dorian faster, harder, bordering on frantic, Dorian’s hand still in his own. He brings it up to his mouth to kiss Dorian’s knuckles, smiles when his lips touch Dorian’s skin. His hips never cease their reckless rhythm. 

A memory comes to Dorian in a flash: that one time in the Anderfels, standing atop a mountain, staring down the cliff, thinking: one step, and I fall. The rocks below sharp and far away, but the path there— Dorian had wondered — about the falling, not the fall.

He wonders now, too.

Bull, moving against him, pushes him closer to the edge. Dorian needs to — he needs to put his feet on unshakable ground. He meets Bull’s eye, dark and wanting; sees his smile, the glint of teeth, the upward curve to the corner of his mouth, wicked. There’s nothing grounding about it. Bull uproots him, pulls him near, pulls him in, and Dorian’s up and off, flying, air so thin around him he can’t breathe.

“Bull,” he says. Anytime but now he would wince at how reverent it sounds. “Bull.”

“Got you,” Bull says. “Got you, Dorian. Let it go.”

A direction dangerous under any circumstances, but with hands intertwined and hips connected? Impossible, Dorian wants to say. 

Almost a relief, then, that this is the only way to go.

Tension in his body snaps like a dry stick under an armored boot, muscles giving in, bones grinding, back arching up, up, up. If there’s a bed still under him, Dorian doesn’t feel it. The heat low in his belly blooms at last, spreads to run through his veins, reaches his fingertips. Sparks are flying, and not only under his closed eyelids, Dorian’s aware of that much.

Bull groans as magic cracks a storm around them. There’s lightning between their bodies, putting goose bumps on their skin, bouncing off of Dorian’s fingers, off his _toes_ , morphing into a fireball when it flies into the air. It hits the floorboard by the window, catching. Bull groans again; it’s not an unaroused sound.

Dorian laughs, and comes, and laughs.

There will be time to be mortified later. Even jumping out of bed to put down the flames that are licking their way from the floor to the curtains seems like an idea for later. Now, the world is spinning. Now, Bull's fucking him, faster and faster, and Dorian’s too lightheaded to give care about anything else. He's quite alright with it all.

Bull pins Dorian to the mattress, pressing his face against his neck. “Shit,” he says on an exhale, breathless. His hips pick up pace. Dorian didn’t think it possible. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Dorian's fingers dig deep into the meat of Bull’s shoulders. “You’re absurd,” he says, canting his hips to squeeze Bull's thighs with his legs, trying to drag him closer. Bull hums something in response, possibly an agreement. Dorian is aware of the fire nearby; Bull doesn’t seem to be. Painfully unsurprising. Dorian huffs. "Not that I don’t like the goings on here, but perhaps if you hurry, we could avoid burn marks. And the embarrassment."

The fire cracks louder, singing the hem of the curtains. Soon the whole wall will be aflame. Bull curses, biting down at Dorian’s shoulder. “So hot. Makes me wanna— Makes me—” The rest is lost in a grunt.

Dorian ought to be the sensible one here. A shame, then, that with Bull filling him, stretching him, fucking him like that, he has difficulty reining himself in. Reminiscent of their first time, really. They’d been dancing around each other for so long neither of them could believe it was actually happening when it happened.

Sometimes, Dorian still can’t.

But Bull’s chanting his name, sweat beading at his temples, and Dorian likes the sound of it on his lips. He likes many things about Bull.

He likes Bull.

Dorian makes his decision. “Flip us.” More confident than his state vouches for. “Now.”

It’s like Bull has been waiting for this. Dorian feels him tremble when he scoops Dorian closer, tremble more when Dorian puts his arms around his neck. More than exertion, then. It makes Dorian shiver in kind.

Bull takes a deep breath before leaning back on his haunches. He lifts Dorian with only one hand under his arse and lower back, and just like that they’re sitting, Dorian in Bull’s lap, his weight pushing him further onto Bull’s cock.

Not new, this position. Bull leaving Dorian to tower over him, falling back against the pillows, limp, his nails scraping for purchase on Dorian’s skin? Kind of new.

Bull is panting, chest heaving, hands slick where they’ve settled on Dorian’s body, hip and thigh, two points of pressure, deliciously too firm. It’s intoxicating, to have made Bull this way. To see him lose some of that famous control of his, to see him go pliant but with his cock still hard in Dorian’s arse, to see his lips move without making a sound, to know he’s wanting and burning with this want, and waiting, waiting, until Dorian gives him what he needs.

What Bull needs and what Dorian has—maybe those are the same thing, after all.

Dorian can work with that.

He rises on his knees and pushes down, hard and fast. Up again and down, hard and fast. Faster and faster, until Bull’s breath starts coming out shallow and harsh, his muscles locking up, Dorian’s body moving, always moving, above him, tireless. Up and down, up and down, up and— Bull makes a sound, not a groan, not a moan, probably not a Qunlat word, maybe a bitten-off sigh. Dorian bends in half, grabbing Bull’s chin, tipping his face to bite and lick at his mouth, and sinks down on his cock for the last time.

Bull goes boneless under him, only his hips jerking minutely, only his face—incandescent.

Dorian hadn’t known sex could look like that, and in the morning he won’t know what to do with the knowledge, but now he cups Bull’s cheek, fond. Breathes with him, forehead to forehead, for a moment or two. The curtains are gone by then, but the wall still stands, and they didn’t choke to death. They have more luck than brains.

Dorian flicks his wrist. The flames go out with a hiss just as Krem starts pounding on the door, yelling, "Your room's burning, chief! You finally fucked the magic out of the ‘Vint?" He enjoys riling them up, shouting something unsavory and checking what it takes to get a raise out of them. Bull enjoys shutting him down. Not today. Today, he barely stirs, brow creasing, and when Dorian tries to ease off him, he makes a quiet, unhappy noise. 

Tentatively, Dorian rubs a circle into the skin of Bull’s shoulder, then another when it seems to be working. When Bull relaxes and Dorian disentangles himself, he is abashed to discovered he’s been humming embarrassing nonsense all along.

At least Bull’s too out of it to remember it the next day.

Krem keeps banging on the door; any moment now and he’s going to break it. Bull will be _furious_ , Dorian thinks, sitting on the bed. He really should be more concerned about this. Or, at least, about Krem cutting off his only escape route from the room. Instead, he casts a silencing charm, allows the quiet to cocoon them like a blanket, lull their heartbeats.

He saved the room from succumbing to the flames and all that. It’s only fitting that he gets to reap the benefits.

Maybe.

Probably.

His clothes are scattered on the floor; Dorian pretends he doesn’t see them on his way to fetch a washcloth, kicks them under the bed on his way back.

Bull is always very thorough when he’s taking care of Dorian, but Dorian hastens. Quick, rough swipes of his hand on his own body, slower and gentler on Bull’s, but even there Dorian doesn’t let himself linger.

He tucks himself in hurriedly, so as not to second-guess himself.

When he starts second-guessing himself anyway, he finds Bull’s hand and laces their fingers together.

Time passes. Dorian basks in Bull’s warmth, cuddling up to him when it stops being enough. Krem—probably—goes away to pester someone else. Bull lets out a small snore. Dorian kisses him between the horns. 

His life is ridiculous, but ridiculous is not the worst it could be. Not the worst it had been. It’s in the past now, but — the past has led him here. And from here, the future looks almost promising.

Dorian cringes. What a peculiar thought to have. Bull must be rubbing off on him.

Quite possibly it’s too late to do anything about it now.

Bracing himself for the inevitable panic, Dorian puts a name to the feeling going off like one of Sera’s flasks just below his skin, the single syllable sharp on his tongue, his mouth far too small to keep it in:

Hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> [My tumblr](http://adoribullness.tumblr.com), if you want to shout at me about Dragon Age.


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